Читать книгу Enemy Lover - Bonnie Vanak - Страница 10

I’m dying. It couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real.

Jamie thrust out her wrist at the Draicon she hated, the Draicon who’d warned her this was happening. A hysterical whisper bubbled up.

“Don’t let me die.”

It was her punishment. In trying to kill Damian, she’d succeeded in killing herself. It didn’t hurt. Painless, just this sluggish lethargy as if her limbs were turning to stone. She wanted to feel something, not this horrid draining as if she were already dead.

In her computer world, Celyndra possessed incredible strength and health. Jamie regenerated fast in cyberspace. Now, her body failed.

Damian sank down onto the couch. He seized her wrist, bound it with gauze on the table. Two strong arms pulled her to him. He muttered something she couldn’t understand, brushed her hair back. Jamie caught a glimpse of long canine teeth descending. Sharp. Dangerous.

Damian bent his head, nuzzled her neck as if kissing her skin.

He bit her.

Sizzling pain screeched along her nerves. Her scream was cut short by a slow, almost erotic scrape as his tongue traced the wound. Strength fled as she collapsed, sagging like a rag doll.

Damn you, Draicon, I was already dying, she thought fuzzily before darkness claimed her.

She mustn’t die. No. Not again. He couldn’t watch her die, lose her like he’d lost his family, little Annie …

He’d acted on instinct. Knowing his bite infused her with good magick. Knowing it would save her.

Very gently Damian cradled her as she fell limp. Her pallor grayish, her hysteria abated. He felt her forehead. Cold but no longer icy. He waited a minute, frantic with worry, then checked her wound. Watery crimson leaked out. Blood.

Relief filled him, so intense he shook. Damian licked her laceration with his healing saliva. He fetched a blanket from the bedroom, covered Jamie to keep her body temperature warm. He punched a number on his cell phone and explained what happened.

When Raphael arrived, Damian’s duffel bag slung over his shoulder and carrying a paper sack, Damian led him upstairs. Rafe dumped the items and gently picked up Jamie’s wrist. “The spell starts working from the inside out on the extremities, then spreads to the vital organs, clogging the blood supply. The fingernails and hair usually turn gray before it gets to this point. Mon Dieu, I’ve never heard of it accelerating this fast. When did she get bit?"

“Kane infected her six weeks ago. Why is it spreading like this? She’s human and it shouldn’t affect her as much.”

A frown puckered Raphael’s forehead as he put down Jamie’s hand. “Humans. She’s your draicara. No Alpha Draicon ever had a human mate. Maybe she’s not human.”

Stunned, Damian sank onto the couch. He held Jamie’s hand, reassured at the warmth spreading through it, the pulse beating slow but steadily. “For now, we have to assume she’s human. What else can I give her?"

Raphael dumped the bag on the kitchen table. “I called Paw Paw and got the recipe for a potion. Should help for a while.”

“I hope so. By the way, I need you to dispose of a body. Ma Petite Voodoo Maison. Morphs got to her.”

Blood drained from Raphael’s face. “Renee?”

His brother raced down the stairs. When Raphael returned, he looked grim. “Too late. There’s people in front of the shop. She’s been found.”

Worry riddled him. He pushed it aside, concentrating on Jamie. She came first.

Someone pressed a cup to her lips. “Drink,” the deep voice commanded. “It will help you, Jamie.”

Still confused, her mind muzzy, she opened her mouth and obeyed. The liquid smelled coppery and tasted faintly of something salty, warm and rich. She gagged and glanced down at the cup. Red liquid sloshed inside.

“Again,” the voice insisted.

Jamie shook her head, but instead of the exhaustion she’d felt, energy poured through her. Real energy, as if she were awakening from a spell.

“What is that?” she croaked.

“A magick potion with herbs and spices and nothing that will harm you.”

Her mind processed the information. A potion aiding her. A fierce desire surfaced to live, to fight whatever had crippled her.

The cup was put to her mouth again. Jamie grabbed the glass and drank, resisting the reflexive instinct to gag.

More energy filled her. Wary of pushing it, she slowly sat up, flexed her fingers. Jamie stared at the now-healed cut on her hand.

Seeing the question in her eyes, Damian nodded. “You bleed red now, Jamie. I bit you to infuse you with my magick, but it’s not permanent. For now, it will help. The tired feeling you had should be gone. It was the spell.”

A shiver snaked down her spine. “How long will I feel better?”

“Without more magick, a week, perhaps, maybe a little longer. I’m not certain. I don’t have experience with this.”

He took her palm, stroked it. “How are you feeling?”

Stronger. Better. Perplexed. “Why did you do that?”

Damian squeezed her palm. “Chère, don’t you understand? I’m trying to save you.”

“Why? I tried to kill you. I’m not the kind of mate you want.”

“Want has nothing to do with it. Call it biology. Laws of the pack. You need me, and I need you.” His fingers trailed over her palm.

Damn, this was mighty confusing. His brusque statement contrasted with the gentle stroke of his fingers across her chilled skin. It broke down the black-and-white areas into patches of gray. She didn’t like gray. Black-and-white was much easier, like computer coding.

I have to survive. And if he’s the means, then I’ll think about the other stuff later. Like I always have. “I need to see Mama Renee. She has lots of experience with potions. She’ll have answers.”

Damian exchanged glances with someone standing silently in the doorway. A strip of pure white hair streaked through the man’s shoulder-length dark hair. About four inches taller than Damian, he had the face of an angel and dressed like a biker. Jamie blinked in vague recognition. She’d seen him somewhere before. “Who are you?"

Introducing her, Damian explained Raphael was his brother. Oh God. Memories ate her guts like a horde of angry ants. Jamie swallowed hard. One of the Draicon who’d joined Damian in killing Mark. Tearing her brother to pieces, as he screamed …

“Another Draicon? How many stray dogs are there in this city?” Jamie shot out.

Raphael’s mouth thinned to a tight slash. He didn’t appear to like her any more than she liked him.

“Dai, I’m headed out. Call me if you need me.” Raphael gave her a hard look and left.

The Draicon slammed the door behind him. Jamie set down the glass and pushed off the couch, relieved to find her limbs functioning normally.

“Where are you going?” Damian demanded.

“Mama Renee’s, just a few doors down. Maybe she can … What?"

Damian stood and went to her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“Stay here, Jamie. There’s something you should know….”

Through her thin T-shirt, she felt his hands’ warmth. Jamie resisted the urge to collapse and absorb his strength. It had been so long since she’d leaned on anyone. The only person she could trust was herself.

But damn, just for once, it would be nice to have someone truly on her side.

“If you don’t know enough, then I have to find someone who does,” she muttered.

A loud buzz warned someone was at the front gate. Shrugging off his hands, Jamie trounced downstairs, Damian following close behind. A man in a rumpled black suit with a tired face stood outside. “I’m Detective Robert Ryan. Do you know the woman who lives two doors down, a Mrs. Renee St. Clair?"

“Renee’s a good friend.”

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but … we believe Mrs. St. Clair has been killed.”

Her heart raced as she shrank back. “There’s some mistake.”

“Perhaps,” the detective said evenly. “Does she have any relatives living in the city?"

“She has a daughter in North Carolina, and her son was killed in a car wreck a while back.”

“Could you come with us and identify the body, Miss Walsh?”

I can’t, she thought with sickening dread. But she had to see for herself. Had to know … that the one woman she felt friendship with was gone. It simply couldn’t be real.

Jamie nodded. Damian took her elbow and gave the detective a hard look. “Just a minute. I’m going with her and we need to lock up.”

He pulled her inside the gate, out of earshot. “Renee was not here with you. Understand? Otherwise you’re a suspect.”

Her stomach twisted in knots. They left the house, following the detective. Police cars crammed the narrow street, blue and red lights bouncing off the buildings, yellow tape being unfurled and plastered across a perimeter of the sidewalk. All stuff she’d seen countless times on television crime shows.

Only this time it was real. Too real.

The familiar interior of the voodoo shop looked normal, though a horrid, coppery stench filled the air. Her instincts knew the smell. Blood and violence. Cops milled about, dusting the shelves with black fingerprint powder, taking photos.

“She’s back here.” The detective walked toward the back room.

She pulled free of Damian and went to a yellow plastic sheet covering something on the floor. Detective Ryan’s face remained expressionless.

“Ready?”

Jamie drew in a deep breath and nodded, barely feeling Damian’s strong hands on her shoulders. The cop pulled back the sheet to show a face.

A face she knew and didn’t. Lips pulled back into a silent scream, warm brown eyes dulled and glazed with horror.

A strangled moan arose in her throat. Jamie jerked her head forward. “It’s her, but how …” She had to know, even though she knew what she would find would be horrible.

Trembling fingers clutched the sheet’s edge, ripped it from the startled detective’s grip. Jamie pulled the sheet back with a vicious yank, exposing the body. Dark bruises ringed Renee’s neck. Blood splattered the pretty flowered dress and a ragged hole showed where … Her heart. Her big, generous heart. Gone.

Jamie gagged, clapped a hand over her mouth. Oh God, her friend … died in pain, horribly. A boulder the size of Louisiana compressed her chest. Her bottom lip wobbled precariously as the burning rose in her throat.

Her parents. Mark. Would the streak of deaths ever end? Maybe the Grim Reaper was only a happy camper when he kept slaughtering everyone in her life.

She ignored the tightness in her throat. No grief. She tried to speak past the cotton dryness in her mouth. Damian put a hand on her shoulder, squeezed gently. His fingers trailed over her nape, stroking in soothing motions as if he tried calming her.

“Wh-who could have done this?”

“Someone with a great deal of strength.” The cop swept her with an even gaze. She guessed his thoughts. Small, slender hands, barely enough strength to rip open a cereal-box top.

But who did possess such strength? Draicon did.

“When did you last see her, Miss Walsh?”

Menace and anger rolled from Damian in thick, violent waves. He gave the cop a look cool enough to freeze burning coal. “She’s not up to answering questions now.”

“It’s okay,” she told Damian, then looked at the detective. “This morning, we had tea, and then she got customers.”

Each question tossed at her she answered steadily, her mind sharpening, her emotions dulled. Her mind raced. Who could want Renee dead? The woman had no enemies, nothing much of value to steal … The laptop. Jamie’s gaze darted over to the side table where Renee had last placed it. Gone.

“May I go into the back rooms, Detective? She was a good friend and I can tell you if anything is missing.”

“I’ll go with you,” Ryan said.

In the kitchen, the shiny new blue notebook sat on the table with a wireless Internet card tucked into the slot. Black fingerprint powder covered the surface.

“Nice notebook.” Ryan gestured to it. “Odd the killer took only the cash from the register and not this. She used it to send an e-mail to her granddaughter today.”

A chill fell over Jamie. She glanced up at Damian’s stoic expression.

“Maybe the killer didn’t want it tracked back to him,” Jamie said softly. She glanced around.

“Where is Renee’s cat?”

Ryan frowned. “We found no cat.” Archimedes must have escaped. He was a survivor, and probably out roaming the streets. The least of her worries now.

“Detective, is her diamond pendant missing? She loved it and it should be in her jewelry box upstairs. I’ll stay here. I’m feeling faint.”

Jamie slipped into the chair before the laptop, burying her face in her hands. No lie, for she was feeling sick. She waited until he left the kitchen, then lifted her head.

Damian leaned over the table. “I need to get you out of here.”

“No, wait, I have to check this out.” She glanced around. “Make sure no one comes in here, ‘kay?"

She powered up the laptop, scanned the files. An e-mail to Renee’s grandchild, just as the detective had said. Jamie pulled up the browsing history. Erased, of course. No matter.

She went into DOS and typed a program she’d written. A long list of Internet addresses scrolled down. Shocked dismay filled her as Jamie stared at the screen.

“What?”

“The computer,” she said dully. “Renee never touched it. Her fingerprints are all over it, but she didn’t use it. She didn’t know how to use the Internet. And these sites, they list antique shops in the French Quarter.”

“Antique shops?”

Jamie caught the note of alarm. Warm breath feathered against her cheek as Damian leaned over her and studied the screen. He muttered something in French. Jamie shut off the machine.

Damian waved his hand. “I just erased your fingerprints. Let’s go. I’ll tell the police you’re ill.”

Outside she gulped down lungfuls of fresh air, but Damian didn’t let her stop until they reached her house and were safely inside the gate. As Jamie sat in the courtyard, a small black cat darted out of the bushes.

“Archimedes!” Joy filled her as she went to pick him up.

The cat turned his back on her and sat by a dying potted palm. Jamie frowned. Not like him to be so unfriendly.

“I brought him back here for you.” Damian sighed.

“What is it? Tell me,” she demanded.

He ran a palm over the brick wall as if to assure himself the safeguards were still in place. “That’s why they killed her. She knew about the antique shop.”

“What shop?”

“The first clue to where the Book of Magick is hidden. It would be in my grandfather’s old house, which is now an antique shop.” He paced, his hands squeezed into fists.

“Renee knew my grandfather’s house held the first clue. My father adored games. He told me that when he hid the book, he planted clues all over the Vieux Carre and the first one was in my grandfather’s house. The Morphs must have gotten it out of her. Not the location. Just that it’s an antique shop now.”

“Renee couldn’t know where the book was hidden. She didn’t even know who you are. And even if she did, why would the Morphs murder her?"

Damian’s fingers relaxed as he stopped to regard her. “She did, Jamie. Renee knew my family well. She was a Draicon. That’s why they killed her—to ingest her energy and give them power. The dying fear of a Draicon is much more powerful than a human’s death fears.”

She sagged into the chair. Impossible. Draicon were evil. Uncaring, brutish werewolves, not sweet, motherly psychics.

“Years ago, Draicon here were outnumbered by Morphs and went into hiding. Renee was among them. I couldn’t tell because I didn’t recognize her scent. Renee used a chemical compound to disguise her scent from the Morphs. Very clever. Whoever did this must have realized her identity and her association with my family.”

Or tortured it out of her. It was too fantastic. Her emotions raced between heartbreaking grief and utter betrayal. “But her grandchild is human. She showed me pictures!”

“Draicon. The parents are from a pack in North Carolina.”

Even her friend had been the enemy. Jamie tried sorting it out. As she had with first her parents’ deaths and then Mark’s, she shoved grief into a dark corner. First came survival.

“I have to find the book. It contains a spell to remove the dark magick, and counteract the spell infecting you. The Morphs know where to start looking now and they won’t stop until they find it.”

Damian leaned against the wall, crossing his powerful arms across his chest. “I hate leaving you here to search for the book, but I have little choice. I’ll send Raphael’s guys to guard you.”

The hell with that. Damian would find the book and her solution to lifting the binding spell crippling her powers. He would wield it over her, always dominating her with his magick, and she’d be trapped. His, forever.

She gripped the chair’s armrests. Damian was the key to finding what she desperately needed. Trusting him was impossible, but for now, she had to join forces with him.

“I’m not staying here. I’m coming with you.”

“The hell you are.”

“The hell I am. My life is tied up in the book. Do you think I’ll sit here and wait? I’m not the waiting sort.”

“Listen to me,” he said quietly. “You made choices before, wrong choices, and lived as you pleased. Not anymore. You will do as I say, Jamie. Period.”